


A Needle Through a Bug

by mugsandpugs



Series: A Matched Set [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, Masturbation, Parent/Child Incest, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some Erik/Pietro at the end, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationships, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: Sometimes, Wanda calls her father's name, late at night when all should be asleep.





	A Needle Through a Bug

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags.
> 
> Dziewczynka = baby girl  
> Tatuś = daddy
> 
> Title from [This song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6KxKY89lyI)  
> 

The Maximoff twins were almost twenty-two years old when Erik Lehnsherr managed to track down his abandoned daughter and her brother, dragging the matched set back to his remote Polish home as he revised his next steps in the ongoing war against humans.

Wanda was quite a handful to live with, even knowing that she had no other choice. She’d caused too much damage to the world to be safe on her own; too valuable for the wrong sort and too dangerous to the rest to be without his protection. 

He heard her late one night as he paced his office, bare-chested due to the summer heat. It was difficult not to hear everything in this house. The walls were thin, and all was wood or stone. Sound echoed without anything to interrupt its path. 

Tonight he heard this: bedsprings creaking, breath catching. 

He rolled his eyes and continued his pacing. How juvenile. At least Pietro had the decency and hygiene-forward thinking to handle his needs during extra-long morning baths, likely with a cloth clenched between his teeth for good measure. 

Erik cocked his head when the frequency of the creaking changed and then silenced. Wanda grunted, and he imagined her on her knees, legs parted, palm grinding desperate friction against her dripping cunt. 

“ _Father,_ ” she gasped, sounding miserable. 

For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined the sound, or if she’d registered his presence. Perhaps his shadow, visible underneath the crack of her door, had given him away? But no, because then she said it again, and it was a moan now: “ _Father…_ ” 

He blinked, registered this new fact about her preferences, and accepted it, folding it into his mind as he did all things. Then he pushed her door open. 

He’d gotten part of his visualization correct. She was not naked, but wearing a long t-shirt that had ridden up her back. She was on her knees, a hand between her thighs. But instead of sitting upright, her weight was braced on one arm, her bare ass to the door. She rutted her own fingers, grunting like a single-minded beast. 

How long had she been touching herself? An hour? More? 

“Father--” 

“Yes, dziewczynka?” he inquired smoothly, and felt a dull flare of satisfaction when she froze in shock. 

Then she spun, giving him quite an eyeful as she did so. Her swollen labia were positively lovely under all that pubic hair; a dusky rose on the outside fading to a soft pink deep within. Her clitoris was plumped up thick and hard and looked ripe for sucking. 

At his stare, her legs jackknifed closed and her arms folded protectively over her body. 

“What are you doing?!” she gasped, eyes huge. “Get out! You… you _pervert--_!” 

He did no such thing, instead looking around her tiny and undecorated bedroom. Underneath the window, she had a desk piled high with laundry and books. More books covered the floor in stacks. 

Closing the door behind himself, Erik crossed the length of the room in two strides and pulled the desk chair out, knocking her sketches off of it with a sweep of his hand. He sat, legs stretched underneath his boxers. He set his feet very properly underneath himself, his back straight as a rod, and regarded his child. 

“So you think of me as you masturbate?” he asked his daughter blandly. It didn’t seem a terribly unreasonable question, given the circumstances, but she was gawking at him as though he were her worst nightmare made manifest. “I am curious to know what role I play in these fantasies of yours. Are we fighting or fucking, daughter-mine?” 

Her face went from chalky-pale to crimson between heartbeats. “You’ve no right,” she whispered, raising her hands to strike him. Physically, or with magic; Erik couldn't tell. He didn’t flinch. “ _No_ right to--” 

“No right to investigate my child crying for me at night? Alone and full of need, full of skin-hunger? What sort of father would I be if I ignored you in such a pathetic state?” 

He felt a cold smile grace his thin lips as he spoke, watching her mouth pinch tight, her shoulders shake in fury. He had, after all, ignored her and her brother both in far worse states, in far worse places. 

“Get out,” she repeated, plainly and forcefully, fierce as a lion on the hunt. She had enough power to send him sprawling, but even as he watched, more slickness trailed down her leg. There was desperation in her eyes, and it made him smirk. _Little animal; barely even human._

He brought a hand between his legs, openly palming himself. He had no erection, not yet, but his meaning was clear. Her eyes went wide as he played with the elastic of his shorts. Erik was a fit man, despite his advanced age, and he clenched the muscles of his stomach and his thick thighs for her to watch, releasing a slow, deep sigh. 

“Come here,” he commanded, his low voice even deeper than normal. “Come find your release on my lap.” 

Wanda shook her head; disbelieving and appalled. 

“No?” Unswayed, he dipped a hand into his shorts and gripped his length, stroking it. “But daughter-mine, aren’t you familiar with mutual benefits? You _would_ like to cum, yes?” 

“And just what are _you_ getting out of this?” 

Mm. So she _was_ interested. 

Erik sat invitingly back in his chair, long legs stretched before him, heels on her carpet. He patted his lap condescendingly, like he might for a small dog. “Why, only the pleasure of taking care of my child’s needs, of course. I’m nothing if not a dedicated father.” 

Her gaze seemed incapable of withdrawing from his hand, still working in his shorts. He obligingly brought the head of his cock out into the open, thumbing at his slit for her benefit. She recoiled. 

“Are you frightened?” Erik asked, and _that_ certainly got her attention. 

“I am not _frightened,_ ” she spat, fists balled at her sides, teeth bared. “Not of anything you could do to me. Not of _that_ little thing.” 

His smile only grew at the attempt at an insult. He was not little, not by any stretch of the imagination, and they both knew it. 

“So prove it, then. Come.” 

“Filthy pig of a man!” 

She did stand, though, but slapped his hands away when he reached for her. That righteous fury on her face only grew as she approached, which was humorous in and of itself. Wasn’t she aware that she was, by right of birth, a filthy pig herself? 

She spread her legs and straddled his bare thigh, lips bunched to the side as she scowled at him, keeping her arms stiffly down. Her t-shirt fell over her so that he couldn’t see where they connected, but he could feel how very hot and wet his daughter’s cunt felt against his skin; could feel the wiry brush of her pubic hair. 

“I hate you,” Wanda breathed, glowering at him through her shaggy black bangs as she always did. “Oh, how I _hate_ you! You are a monster.” 

It sounded almost as though she were repressing tears as she snapped her hips, dragging that throbbing cunt over his leg for some much-needed friction. 

He gazed impassively into her face, allowing his eldest child to hump his thigh; feeling that hatred she projected from every pore. He absorbed it all. If he could stand to be so cruel to his offspring, then he could damn well stand this. 

As usual, he felt close to no emotions of his own, but he verbally acknowledged her overabundance of them. 

“Yes, dziewczynka,” he agreed with Wanda when she met his gaze and he saw that there were indeed tears shining in her ice-blue eyes, the color of which she shared with her twin and with Erik himself. “You are correct. I am the most monstrous of all, and you’ve the privilege of taking after me. Are you finding pleasure on my lap?” 

Though her enraged expression did not change, a hot tear slid lickety-split down the bridge of her hooked nose and around the curve of her jaw to drip from her chin. He resisted the urge to lick its shining trail; to taste the salt of her grievances. 

She’d always been an emotional thing; yelling and crying at every provokation. Now, just like every other outburst, he didn’t truly understand what had her so upset, nor did he care to ask. It must be terribly exhausting, going through life in such a raw state of being. 

She slipped a little on his lap when she attempted to grind her clit into his thigh, frustrated with these barest dull pangs of pleasure. Automatically her flailing arms seized his shoulders for balance. After some consideration, he took her generous hips into his wide hands. 

“Can’t you even pleasure yourself correctly on your own?” he questioned-- not cruelly; only marveling at her helplessness. He had a perfectly serviceable lap; there were many people out there who’d been quite pleased to use Erik’s body in such a way, with far less assistance. 

When Wanda balked at his hands on her skin, he pointedly tightened his grip and used it to grind her lower body in an exemplary rhythm against his leg, deliberately flexing and tensing his muscles underneath her. “Do you need your father to show you how to cum, even at this age?” 

“Oh that’s-- _oh,_ ” her head fell back as his thigh, now lubricated with her own slick, became smooth and easy for a punishingly quick down-press-slide- _repeat_ motion. She doubled her grip on her father’s shoulders and enthusiastically set to a proper humping. 

She’d never liked being given things, preferring instead to take them for herself. It was one of the few traits the two shared. 

The wet slap of skin on skin, the sound of Wanda’s panting, the pungent scent of a hungry pussy were all head-spinning and prominent in the air. Erik felt his own arousal begin its slow, molten path through his core. 

Wishing for a better view, he released her hips and set to tugging at the hem of her shirt, raising it to the level of her belly before she slapped his hands off, fury rekindled. 

“Nobody touches me there!” she barked, fierce as a hellcat. Her very teeth were bared, as though she fancied herself brave enough to bite the man who’d created her. Erik very much doubted _that._

“I do not have to tolerate your childish ministrations,” he reminded her acerbically, showing teeth of his own. “I could leave you as unsatisfied as I found you. Either you strip and show me your body, or I’m returning to my work. I could easily leave you to suffer and cry for cock like the bitch in heat you are.” 

Her fury faded to uncertainty. He almost regretted insisting upon this point, but such a fuss had been made out of it already. He had to see this through; see what choice she’d make. 

“Filth,” she cursed him in smooth Polish, once more glaring daggers his way. Despite this, despite the wary vulnerability now playing on her face, she did indeed take the hem of her ridiculous sleep-shirt and slowly, reluctantly, peel it over her head. “Cur. Dog. Bastard.” 

The vulnerable expression disappeared as she threw the shirt to the floor-- he was of half a mind to force her to stand, fold it, and put it away-- and sat naked astride him as though daring him to find fault with her body. 

She’d inherited most of her features from Erik’s side of the family: the wide blue eyes; the square jaw and aqualine nose; the broad shoulders and long-fingered hands. They had the same tall frames and long legs, their bodies powerful and strong. But from her mother she’d inherited golden-tanned skin several shades darker than his own, as well as thick, wiry black hair that grew underneath her arms and low on the soft pooch of her belly, concealing her mound; growing patchy along her calves. 

She was solid with muscle definition in her arms and back and thighs. And her breasts were a pleasing, taut handful, each capped with large bronzed nipples. 

Because she had warned him away from touching her breasts, he reached for them immediately, feeling the faint trails of stretchmarks under his fingertips. Unsurprisingly, she flinched, but again, that vulnerable expression lingered. He squeezed and massaged the globes for a long minute, more to prove that he could do as he liked with her body than from an actual desire to do so. 

“Who has ever wronged you?” Erik asked, once again dropping his hands to her hips. “Who has touched you there that you learned to fear it?” 

He thought, rather calmly, that he’d be quite willing to murder anyone who had done such a thing to his daughter, though first he wished to know why Wanda had not killed them herself. Their line demanded respect. 

Wanda ducked her head. She’d stopped humping his leg, instead just sitting astride it. She was not light in weight, but he was strong underneath it. 

“You’ve never cared about my wellbeing before. Why ask now?” 

Well, that was a terribly foolish thing to say. There had never been a point in time when he hadn’t been concerned for her wellbeing. The institution he’d had her locked inside for the better part of her life had been high-quality and completely under his control, after all. It was _she_ who had been stupid enough to break out and send him on a hunt after her. 

“You’re old enough to know better than to fish for assurances. Questions such as these make you sound weak.” 

Again, that bee-stung expression was back. Oh, now; had he hurt her again with his words? Foolish thing. He grew tired of her myriad of emotions. 

He shifted his grip, dragging her body to him and plastering their torsos together, savoring the feel of her hardened nipples rubbing his chest. As she let out a surprised little grunt, he stood and neatly deposited her onto the bed, gripping her calves and forcing her legs apart to admire the view. 

Wanda was too broad, too mannish, to properly envoke her mother, and yet there was enough resemblance there that he felt himself hardening despite himself, though Magda had never looked at him with such hatred. It added an exciting flavor to the whole, messy ordeal. 

He took some satisfaction in catching his forearm under Wanda’s knees and bringing her legs up to her chest, exposing her bottom, her pussy lips peeking wetly from between her chubby thighs. It was an obscene and vulnerable position; one that made her blush profusely and struggle to resituate into something more dignified. 

He ran gentle fingertips over her skin and then, without warning, brought the flat of his hand sharply against her buttocks, striking her soundly. She let out an indignant little yelp. Before she could retaliate, he spanked her other cheek, and then the first again. Stinging little slaps that sounded sharper than they landed. If he stopped soon, she wouldn’t even bruise. 

Perhaps he _wanted_ her to bruise. 

“Do not treat me as a child!” she hissed, humiliated, trying to wrest her hips from his grasp. He held on, delivering another handful of spanks onto each cheek for the sheer pleasure of watching her flesh ripple and darken. 

“You _are_ a child,” he reminded her, angling his next swat to hit at just the top of her thigh; a tender place that had her hissing between her teeth. “You are _my_ child.” 

He delivered a blow onto her cunt, striking her so that his longest fingers met her clitoris. And how she _shrieked_ at that; magic flying from her fingertips and burning the wallpaper in starbursts of red light. 

Her wetness dripped down her thighs, and he caught some on his fingers, watching it stretch viscously before breaking. He then brought it to his lips to sample her taste. 

He spanked her bottom a final time-- she wailed; he smiled-- and wiped the residue off on one buttock before gripping her warmed cheeks firmly in his hands, feeling the soles of her feet dig involuntarily into his shoulders. 

Using his knuckle, he caught her chin and brought it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I am going to eat you now,” he informed her, and she gasped when he gripped her by those juicy thighs and forcefully hauled her lower body off the bed, burying his face in her cunt and licking savagely. 

He ate her as he did everything: vigorously and without mercy. 

Gone was her dignity, her self-righteousness. With just his teeth and tongue, the silver stubble on his face, he rubbed and licked and lapped her into a begging glory, holding her fat little clit prisoner between his taut lips. 

He saw her mouth form the word “ _papa,_ ” though her thighs gripped his ears too hard to make out any sound but the rushing of his own blood. 

Before she could cum-- and perhaps, _perhaps_ he was being a little bit mean now; stringing her along for so long-- he dropped her entirely, seized her foot, and crossed it over the opposite leg. She was on her belly before she knew it. 

Her confused little exclamation brought another smile. She should know by now, never to grow complacent around him. 

“My chin is soaking,” he remarked snidely. “Still going to pretend you don’t want this?” 

She could only pant and gasp for breath. 

He pulled her ass open, admiring the way her tight, dusky hole winked at him, as though shy. He’d quite enjoyed anal in his youth; perhaps he would fuck her there another time, when adequate lubricant was at hand. Her other hole was self-lubricating to the point of leaving a stain on the bedsheets; it was far more suitable for his immediate needs. 

“Do you always become this wet, or are you unusually aroused right now?” he asked his daughter, already knowing the answer. “Could it be me that’s making you like this?” 

He slipped the middle and ring finger inside her cunt, enjoying the spongy sensation of walls stretching to accommodate the intrusion. “Do you enjoy being treated as you deserve? I’m flattered.” He used his other hand to give her pubic hair a sharp tug. 

“Don’t-- ah--” she groaned at the slight mocking edge to his tone. “Do not flatter yourself, _father_ ; I’d quite worked myself up already when you intruded.” 

“When I found you moaning my name, you mean. Have you ever before cum with my name on your lips? You will.” 

She did not dignify this with a response, but turned to sass him over her shoulder. “Are you just fondling my insides, or were you going to attempt to bring me satisfaction for the first time in your life?” 

In response, he curled his fingers upward in a beckoning motion, meanwhile causing the iron in her blood to vibrate-- not significantly, but enough to produce a tiny euphoria of a high that had her collapsing chest-first on the bed. She hissed, hips bucking. A so-called G-spot was just the internal legs of a clitoris, and he rubbed them now, causing her to moan and hitch and drip for it. 

“Would you like your father to fuck you now?” he asked smoothly, and bent low over Wanda’s muscled back to hiss darkly into her ear. “Is that what my dziewczynka needs? Is that what you’ve been begging for in all your tantrums? To be pierced by the cock that made you?” 

Oh, how she keened. The sound was pure animal. Her hips sawed back onto his fingers, fucking herself. 

“Is that a yes?” he teased. “My, what a whore you are. Did I raise you to be this way; so hungry for cock?” 

“Papa, give it to me now!” she wailed, slipping, scrabbling on the sheets to splay her legs, to present her cunt for a proper pounding like a good little whore should. So she _could_ behave after all, despite her constant disobedience. “Put it inside me now!!” 

Well. It was always so pleasant to feel wanted; wasn’t it? 

Sliding down his boxers and stepping out of them, he gripped his cock-- a fine specimen; long and fat and heavy now that it was filled with blood and slick with pearly dewdrops of pre-cum. He teased the lips of her pussy with the head, just for the pleasure of hearing her whine and curse and whimper. 

He clamped his teeth just this side of too hard on the back of her neck as he fed his cock into her sopping cunt, pressing resolutely onward until he bottomed out, feeling his balls hanging heavy as fruits between her lips. He waited until her hitched breathing evened out and then, quite abruptly, pulled out and slammed back into place. His balls slapped her leg audibly. 

Wanda _screamed._ A tiny scream; aborted by her own hand clapped over her mouth, but how delightful to have made her emit such a noise. He was unlikely to tear or harm her, as she was quite wet already, but a little blood wouldn’t have stopped him anyway. 

No, that was a scream of shock; of being well and truly overwhelmed. It was a scream of finally feeling whole after a lifetime of being split into a hundred little fragments. 

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll be bruised and sore for days,” he promised darkly, and dragged her back by the hips onto his rock-hard length.“You’ll be too sore to even touch yourself when I’m through with you. I’m going to use you as the object you are. I’m going to take my pleasure in your cunt and congratulate you fully for at last finding a use for yourself.” 

It was exactly the sort of statement that would normally incite her into shouting curses in all the languages they knew-- combined, that was quite an impressive number-- and then blasting at him with the fire she conjured in her palms to stroke or merely hold like it was some sort of little cat when she wasn’t using it as a weapon. He knew this, because getting her angry enough to lose her inhibitions was how he’d studied the extent of her abilities in the first place. 

Regardless, she did not shout. Not in anger, at the very least. Instead, she arched into his touch, her pussy opening for him like the petals of some strange flower as he drove mercilessly into her, selfishly using her entire body like a friction glove for his own benefit. When her hand snaked around to touch her clit, he caught it at the wrist and held it at the small of her back. 

“No. You exist to serve me; not yourself. I’ll decide when you can cum.” 

She thrashed at that. Not in pleasure, but as though she were a donkey trying to buck her rider. More flames shot from her hands, burning her sheets until the entire room smelt of cheap melting polyester. “Papa, no,” she pleaded. “ _Papa--!_ ” 

Oh, what _now_?! Had he said something to offend her delicate sensibilities? 

In her sudden panic, her body clenched hard around his cock, and he had to ease out before he came right then and there, slapping her again across the ass until she stilled. 

“What is the matter with you?!” he inquired crossly. “Do you want this or not? Make up your mind, silly girl.” 

Slowly, she rolled onto her back, her shaking hands covering her face. In a moment, she’d start crying again. 

He bent over her, trying to mask his irritation with her fickle moods. “You did ask for me to ‘put it in you’,” he reminded her. “What, pray tell, did you expect?” 

She didn’t lower her hands. Wouldn’t look at him. He took her wrists and moved them for her; saw that her lids were closed tight, eyes shivering underneath them. Perhaps she was trying to gather her control. 

He lowered further. Pressed his mouth to her temple, and rested a palm on her belly, rubbing soothing circles there. 

“Come back to me,” he said, speaking more gently than he normally would bother. “Come on. Papa’s here.” 

Slowly, she opened her eyes. After a moment, the burning spark-embers flaring in her sheets extinguished with a hiss and thin trails of gray smoke. She took a deep breath and swallowed. Nodded. 

Rather than asking her what that had been about, he parted her legs again and situated himself between them. They’d wasted enough time; he didn’t have all night. Using an index and middle finger to spread her pussy lips, he gave himself a few firm strokes to reestablish his erection, and then pressed forward, entering her again. 

She made a little sound as he began to thrust inside of her, but otherwise didn’t react; lying back and allowing him to manhandle her body. Her eyes seemed very far away. 

That wouldn’t do. He licked his thumb and then flicked at her clit, sharp enough to make her gasp; make her eyes refocus. _Better._

Waiting until she’d again made eye-contact, he began rubbing his thumb in circles over her most sensitive organ, finding which angles suited her best. Her head fell back, but this time in genuine pleasure. 

“Papa,” she sighed dreamily. Then, “ _Tatuś..._ ” 

An odd wave of affection overcame him at that near-forgotten word. How long had it been since either of his children had called him that? He’d been ‘Father’ for so long that it was easy to forget a softer time had once existed. 

He recalled long nights with both premature infants sleeping fitfully on his chest while Magda was rushed in and out of various hospitals, the bloodclot in her leg reaching her heart despite their best efforts to stall it. 

He’d mistakenly assumed, at the time, that it was _Pietro_ who would have inherited notable powers from his exceptional father. That shock of near-colorless hair he’d been born with had made the male infant look so different, even then, that Erik had spent more time with him, more concerned with keeping the tiny thing alive than his ordinary-looking sister. 

Appearances had been deceiving. His son’s gifts were a mere parlor trick compared to Wanda’s near limitless capabilities. That he now had such a powerhouse writhing on his cock brought a smile to his face. 

So he’d at last found a way to harness and control that power after all. 

Erik reached to cup his daughter’s face in hand, brushing over her generous lips with his thumb. He met and held her eyes as he snapped his hips, once again fucking into her at a near punishing pace just to force more cries out of her pretty throat. 

“Look at me as I take you, dziewczynka,” he ordered harshly. “Do not mistake me for another.” 

As though she _could_. Erik had created holes in his children's hearts over the course of their lives; cracks in their foundations that would weaken them if left untreated. Holes that only he could fill. It was, in a sense, his _duty_ to provide this service to her today. He could clean up his own messes. 

“I know it is you, Tatuś,” his baby girl sniffed, wiping at her watery eyes with the back of her hand, but never breaking their stare. Her voice was wibbling with emotion. “Tatuś, Tatuś… only you.” 

“You are correct. Only I may have you like this.” 

He bent low, cupping one breast in his hand, mouthing another nipple stiff with sharp little bites just to prove it. The fact that she’d previously declined him access to her breasts only made him more determined that she should cum while he touched them. How else to rewire her brain while it was still young and malleable? 

He lowered his voice to a possessive hiss in her multi-pierced ear: “Only I may own you, my glorious, powerful Scarlet Witch.” 

“I want only to be close to you…” her breath was hitching in little breathy gasps as he plowed her, gripping the backs of her legs and neatly folding her in half in his drive to penetrate her as deeply as possible. What a heartbreaking little confession this was, at a time when inhibitions were so low. “For my whole life, I only wanted you. I love you, papa. I always have.” 

He did something that made her toes curl from where her legs rested atop his shoulders. The thought swelled in him with savage pride, and he sought to do it again, to do it _better_. To manipulate her body as he did her mind. 

Her hands slid to his buttocks, gripping him there, nails biting into flesh to drive him more forcefully inside her, as though she wanted to pull him apart and climb inside his skin, to be with him always. He bit down on her nipple to make her wail. 

“My troublesome little witch. Mine to fuck; mine to own.” 

“Yes, Tatuś,” she agreed blissfully. “I am yours to do with as you like. Just don’t let me go.” 

Those words were satisfying enough to convince him that she deserved a reward. Clearly, she’d learned something tonight. He angled the thrusting of his hips and again buried his face in her ample cleavage, biting on a breast hard enough to leave a bruise. The fingers of his left hand pressed into her mouth, choking her, and those of his right found her cunt, touching the place where he stretched her open raw and sore. 

At last he pressed a thumb, hard, to her clit, pulsing in perfect timing to the thrust of his pelvis. 

She moaned around his fingers as she came hard; explosively, hips near-flying off the bed as all the tension coiling within her snapped and broke, sending her flying high for a good, long minute. Through it all he continued to fuck her, until her head was thrashing; mouth wide in a silent scream; overstimulated to the point of agony. 

Her strong legs locked around his waist when he came with a muffled grunt, trapping him inside, greedily milking him dry. 

Ah, troublesome thing; now he’d have to procure contraceptives. He could not risk impregnating his daughter, not even if-- 

Well. He briefly entertained the idea. What _would_ a child borne of his skill and her power be capable of? Saving the world? 

Destroying it, and beginning anew? 

He’d think more on that idea later. It just wasn’t feasible at this point in time. Erik would buy her the damn morning-after pill. 

In the time spent thinking all of this, Wanda’s shivering had stilled. Her father’s cock pulsed its last inside of her, and he bent with a hand on her bed-frame to regather his strength. Mutant or not, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. 

Erik gripped himself at his base when he was sure he’d stabilized, easing his softening cock out of his daughter’s abused little hole. There was a heartbeat where she gaped wide, deep enough to see inside to that ridged pink ring of her cervix, before her tired walls fought to close, to seal her away from prying eyes. 

A stream of stretchy white semen began to dribble from her body and onto the bed, pooling on her bottom and sheets. It was an arousing sight, and it also made him feel tenderly towards her. The womb he’d used his seed to create was now overflowing with his spunk. It felt cyclical. 

Realizing she was too fucked-out to move, he gripped her legs and used the discarded shirt to wipe his cum off of her, also dabbing at her sweat until she was relatively dry. 

He slid his thick arms underneath her limp body, lifting her with ease and stripping the soiled and singed top blanket from the bed before laying her back down and covering her with the sheet. 

“Tatuś?” Wanda whispered hoarsely, her voice very, very little. Though a woman now, she sounded very much like a child; like the sweet little witch she’d been once upon a time. “Won’t you kiss me goodnight?” 

He regarded her impassively for a long moment, taking in her hopeful expression, her eyes shining huge and blue in the moonlight. 

“What have you done to deserve a kiss?” He asked coldly, and when her face crumpled, he turned and left the room, shutting her door silently behind himself. If she thought getting off with her father would change their relationship in any way, she could think again. 

He was startled to see that his son was just across the hall, sat on the ground with his head in his arms, curled up like a foundling. He did not move when Erik stood before him. 

“Pietro.” 

“Father.” 

Oh, his voice was strained, muffled in his arms as it was. Was he crying, too? Erik had told him time and again that men had no need for tears, yet the boy continually refused to listen. “You should not hurt her like that.” 

So he was brave enough to scold, but not to intervene? Erik supposed he should be pleased his cowardly son had the balls for even this much defiance. 

“I don’t believe that I hurt her,” Erik replied smoothly. “She seemed to enjoy the experience.” 

Pietro finally looked up from his arms, fixing his father with a trembling look. His eyes always seemed a little brighter in the dark than they should. One day, Erik would experiment on this, too, to test his night vision. Perhaps he could steal medical equipment from the local village to scan him… 

If only Pietro’s regenerative abilities were strong enough to regrow entire organs, Erik would have had him half-vivisected by now. 

The brightness was magnified now by his tears. 

Erik was too sated to be much affected, but a new thought with a certain sort of appeal did occur to him. “Stand, Pietro.” 

Pietro did so gracefully. He was a tall man, but not as tall as his sister, let alone his father. He hadn’t breached six feet, but remained thin and elfin as his mother. 

Sometimes, Erik wondered if Wanda had absorbed some of Pietro’s physical strength and mutant ability in the womb… And just how powerful she might be if she’d taken all of him, cannibalizing him through her skin. 

Sometimes he wished that she’d finished the job. What a glory she’d be then! 

Still naked, Erik took a step towards his son. Pietro cowered, his back to the wall, his heart beating a visible thrum in his throat. He was frightened, and that prey-animal fear was delicious. Pietro was always frightened, his fight-or-flight compass ever pointed North… but still. He knew better than to run from his father. When Erik approached, he did not flinch. 

Erik brought a knuckle to his son’s chin, tilting his face up, and Pietro held very still as his father brought their lips together in a soft mockery of a kiss. The very kiss he’d just denied his daughter. 

Slowly exhaling, Pietro’s tense shoulders sagged. His eyes closed, and his posture softened. He would not fight Erik any more. In this one tiny action, all fight had been snuffed from his weak spirit. 

There was that spark of pleasure at how easily his son parted his lips, accepting Erik’s tongue into his mouth without a hint of resistance. Maybe Erik preferred Wanda’s fight to this spinelessness, but he depended on Pietro’s blind obedience. 

“Spread your legs for me. Now.” Erik commanded his son.


End file.
